Clareified

Okay, this might belong on one of my other blogs, but I’m posting it here because Clareified will always be my favorite blog. (Hate to break it to you middle through younger kids, no matter what your parents told you, they love your oldest sibling the most.) Just kidding. Not really.
Anyway, I am currently hiding in the bathroom of my hotel suite lest Mary beat me to death for the computer screen glare. Last night I shared the room with Kearns and basically had the TV on all night. Upon hearing that, Alceste was all, you know Mary will kick your ass? I do. And so here we are.
Oh, here is Las Vegas. The ocassion is, I believe, my third poker blogger Winter gathering. Vegas is a lot colder than I ever remember it being, “fracking cold” is my official term for it. But the poker bloggers are awesome as per usual. I remember my first poker blogger outing where I spent much of the time as “F-train’s friend Dawn” and the rest of the time as “the girl that’s going to have the scrape the remnants of F-train’s drunken frame back to the room. I’ve come a long way since then. I even have my very own impersonator. No progress has been made in the search for, as Karol terms it, “the real killer,” but I know he or she is here. Moments after I walked into the MGM and announced that “Jordan sucked” my twitter was updated to say “Jordan sucks.” Leading Jordan to reason that it must, therefore, be someone that knows him too. We have a big poker blogger tournament tomorrow, so I hope that should I bounce my cyber doppleganger from the tournament, they will give me the password to the account as their bounty. In any case, Jordan says I can impersonate him on a highonpoker twitter stream if I want.
I’ve thus far had a great time. Iggy made made my day yesterday by telling me he was my biggest fan and comparing me to John the Baptist. Completely unaccostomed to such sincere praise, I was at a loss for a reply as “Bite me,” “Your mom” and/or “suck it,” my vocabulary staple for dealing with the assfaces which surround me in New York, just didn’t apply. F-train came to my aid by explaining to Iggy that I couldn’t handle positive affirmation because I didn’t get any from my mom as a child. To which I quickly replied “what’d you say about my mom? Bite me!” Ah, that’s better.
Chilly made my afternoon when I started to tell him about how I’m trying to teach Kearns how to fold pocket Kings at “the first available opportunity” and Chilly nods and says “Dawn, you’re telling me this as if I don’t read everything you write.” Zeem made my night when he told me that he “friended me on twitter, but didn’t friend Karol!” Of course, I am going to ignore the fact that since I had to tell him that it isn’t me on twitter, he’s clearly not reading my blog! Or my daily facebook statuses. Oh, this is also the weekend of the famous CK quiz. I think it is universally believed that I will PHAIL as my little cousin likes to spell it. However, I did get to pwn F-train and CK last night on a question they asked about my Pats. It was hawsome. CK has also agreed to take the quiz as well, I guess answering with Eagles history where I have to know New England history, so we’ll see how real a fan she is! Oh, two weird stories:
I looked up the Las Vegas Scrabble club before I left New York because I have a big tournament coming up and I HAVE to do really well because my stupid choke artist performance in DC caused my rating to drop. The interwebs informed me that the club met every Thursday at 6 at a Rehab clinic in South Vegas. So I take a cab from my hotel and head to the address 1250 South Valley Vegas. We drive for twenty minutes and I see 4500 South Valley Vegas, 3600 South Valley Vegas, 2000 South Valley Vegas, 1190 South Valley Vegas…heeyyyyy…I tell the cabbie to turn around…he does, but same thing happens. Repeat. Finally, I call the number for the clinic and get cross streets. It turns out that the clinic is actually in a corporate park with like four other businesses. We found the rehab center way at the back. It looked a bit deserted for someplace that’s supposed to be hosting a weekly Scrabble tournament, so I asked the cabbie to wait. He most definitively said “no.” Or get the hell out. I walked into the building and asked the recptionist where the “cafeteria” was. She asked if I was there to see a patient. I said so “I’m here for the Scrabble club.”
“The what?”
“Scrabble club” I repeated.
She shrugged.
“You have to sign in.”
I did. But I was a bit concerned when I noticed the last signature was timed at “4:15″ If there were a bunch of Scrabblers here they were some sneaky mothers. Sure enough I got to the cafeteria and it was empty.
Bastards.
I went back to the receptionist and asked if she had a car service number.
She stared back at me as if I had two heads.
“Car service…cab? Taxi?”
“No, there’s a phonebook downstairs if you want…”
“Uhmmm…can I get a cab outside?”
She shrugged.
I headed back outside and started to walk towards the street.
It was cold and dark and quite clearly I was going to be killed. Murdered. Cut down in my prime. In Vegas. I am the opening segment of a CSI episode.
So I did what I always do in these situations. Call Karol. And she did what she always does when I call her in these situations.
A. Laugh at me.
B. Repeat the story to whoever is around so that they can also laugh at me.
C. Laugh at me.
D. Call the internets for help.
She tried to call a car service for me from Manhattan, but the dispatch pretty much hung up on her when she said the phrase “well, no, not me, my friend is outside the rehab clinic.”
I finally called a company myself and they said they were coming. As I waited I updated my facebook status to reflect my impending murder. In the hopes that my death would spur a nationwide program where law enforcement would scan facebook and myspace statuses for future murder victims and go save them. It would be called “Dawn’s Law.”
When the cab came I texted Karol that I was in the cab and the driver didn’t look “stabby.” She responded that hopefully he wouldn’t be “shooty” either.
He was actually very nice. He asked how on earth I ended up in South Valley Vegas and I told him about the Scrabble club…um nonexistent Scrabble club. “You Scrabble players,” he said shaking his head, “my aunt loves that game. For years she and her friend would play everyday in the park. The sweetest people until they got around that board and then it was a battle to the death. It was funny cause she’s a tiny old Jewish woman and he was tall African american man. Everyone would call they ebony and ivory. Everyday they played, till he passed away from a heart attack a few years ago. Sad, he wasn’t even that old like late sixties, my aunt’s in her eighties. It was tough.”
Turns out he was also from Boston and seemed surprised that I was a Patriots fan from New York. (I was wearing me Riots hat.)
“Really? A Pats fan from Brooklyn?”
I laughed.
Well, as Vinnay says, “I guess we’ll see about that.”

This entry was posted by Dawn Summers on Saturday, December 13th, 2008 at 5:49 am and is filed under Personal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.